The next day arrived with an almost surreal stillness.

I had spent most of the night turning Owen’s business card over in my hand, torn between disbelief and the unsettling clarity that the pieces finally fit.

The letters, the overly familiar sentiments.. they were his. The friendly catch-up had been colored by something I hadn’t noticed in the moment.. his intentions.

Now, as I pushed open the door to the sleek, minimalistic lobby of M&T Galleries, I tried to steady my breathing.

Owen had invited me here, and I’d agreed before the discovery.

Facing him now, knowing what I did, felt like stepping onto a stage without a script.

“Samantha,”...